


Murphy's Law

by DarkAuroran



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAuroran/pseuds/DarkAuroran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, it isn’t a demon or an angel or a supernatural creature of any kind that exposes their position to Lucifer and the other angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the wonderful Micah for her birthday. Thanks for all the encouragement with this fic, Mi ^_^
> 
> Edited by the delightful Sal Scarlet.

In the end, it isn’t a demon or an angel or a supernatural creature of any kind that exposes their position to Lucifer and the other angels. It’s a group of teenagers – drunk on cheap beer and their own misguided sense of invincibility – that stole a car and went for a late night joy-ride. Ironically, it happens at a crossroad on the outskirts of some non-descript town, middle of nowhere Montana. The car of teens careens in at 90mph and slams into the Impala’s rear left door. The only warning Sam and Dean have is a sudden flare of headlights before the world explodes in a scream of fractured metal, flying glass, and bright, piercing pain.

Dean can’t keep track of what happens after the initial impact, there’s a sickening spin of chaotic motion, the roar of blood in his ears, and the gut wrenching sound of metal grinding. When it all comes to a shuddering halt, Dean’s arms lie limply against the impala’s roof, and he’s hanging upside-down, suspended by his seat belt.

For a long moment, all he can do is blink stupidly at his glass-shredded hands while his ears ring and his head swims through murky, vertigo waters. Then Sam’s large hand grips his wrist bringing Dean back to his senses. They’re both shaking even as chilling numbness sets in, adrenaline and shock skewing their synapses into a confused mess. Dean almost drops the knife he fishes from his boot to cut them loose because his hands are trembling so violently and are slick with blood. As he’s retrieving his knife, it takes him a while to realise that the strange protrusion through his jeans isn’t something stabbed into him but his fibula sticking _out_ of him. It takes a lot of will power not to vomit. Dean’s pretty sure that vomiting on an open wound isn’t a good idea.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice is strained, and the breaths he’s sucking in are shallow and _wet_.

Dean grits his teeth and cuts himself loose. As he crumples into an awkward lump, he wishes the shock had done a better job at numbing him. It fucking _hurts_! He must have made some kind of noise because Sam’s calling his name again, frantic and wheezy and not at all like how a voice should sound. There’s blood running into Dean’s right eye and he wonders if it’s from glass cuts or if he head-butted the steering wheel. The lingering ringing in his ears and general sense of unreality suggests the latter. Ignoring his screaming body, Dean drags himself around awkwardly until he can see his brother. Sam’s face and hands are slashed, and his head’s at an awkward angle against the roof of the car because he’s too damn tall. There’s blood streaming from his mouth.

“Hold on, Sammy.” Dean’s tongue feels too thick and his voice sounds like it was dragged across the road with the Impala. “Gonna cut you loose.”

Sam lands half on top of him, and while Sam is groaning in pain Dean runs through a few of his more choice curses. They slump together weakly for a few moments, just breathing. Dean is trying to force the bright spots from his vision when Sam gives a kind of gurgling splutter and pink foam bubbles between his lips. Not good, not fucking good at all.

“Easy, Sammy, easy,” Dean says and rubs his brother’s shaking back as Sam struggles to breathe properly. “You’ll be ok, just take it easy.”

“My ribs are broken,” Sam wheezes and Dean nods absently and fumbles at his pocket for his phone.

Fuck, _Fuck_! If he’d known that earlier he never would’ve cut Sam down. If he’s coughing up pink froth there’s a damn good chance one of his ribs has pierced a lung and _fucking FUCK_!

“You’ll be okay, just take it easy. Don’t move. For fucks sake, Sam, don’t move!” Dean yells as his brother makes an aborted attempt to crawl from the car.

Sam shoots out a hand, grabs Dean by the jacket, and hisses, “Dean, my ribs are broken. The angel symbols that Cas- we’re exposed! _They can find us_ ,” before choking up more tinged foam.

“Right, shit, alright, just don’t fucking move, you idiot. I’m calling for help.” Dean finally gets a hold of his phone but before he can think of calling Cas or an ambulance or even pull the damn thing from his pocket, there are footsteps crunching across the gravel towards them.

Dean’s half-arsed hope that it’s someone from the other car is squashed a second later when a chillingly familiar voice calls out, “Got yourselves into a little accident I see.”

Sam instantly makes an effort to haul himself out of the wreckage and collapses in a quivering, choking lump. Dean’s hand has flown from his pocket and is scrambling at the glove-box for the handgun they keep stashed there. It’s a waste of time, he knows that bullets are going to do jack shit to an angel, but he has to protect his little brother and he needs a freaking weapon in his hand.

Polished leather shoes stop at the smashed in driver’s window and Zachariah squats down to look at them through the twisted metal. Dean can see more sets of obnoxiously shiny shoes behind him. The goon squad has found them first. _Goddamnit_!

“I gotta tell you, boys,” Zachariah says, his vessel’s face set in a smug smile, “I’m a little under-whelmed. Despite all the resources we’ve been wasting in order to find you, it’s a carload of boozy meatbags that deliver us the prize. If I’d known it would turn out like this I would’ve stayed home with my feet up waiting. Watched _Oprah_.”

“Screw off, you potbellied douchebag,” Dean rasps as he brings his gun up so the barrel is resting right between Zachariah’s eyes. Sam has buried his hands into Dean’s jacket like he wants to pull his brother away from the angel but can’t muster the strength.

Zachariah smirks and shakes his head in familiar exasperation. “Dean, Dean, Dean… will you never learn? You can’t hurt me, I’m an _Angel_. And you?” Zachariah looks pointedly at the bone sticking out of Dean’s leg with a raised eyebrow. “You’re a broken toy soldi-”

Dean’s heard enough and pulls the trigger. Zachariah’s head snaps back and even though Dean knows the bullet won’t do anything, damned if it doesn’t make him feel better. At least it does until Zachariah lowers his head again. Blood is running from an entry wound between his eyebrows and down his nose to drip off its tip. His nostrils are flared and he gives Dean a sharp smile that’s all teeth and furious eyes. Next thing Dean knows, there’s a hand clamped around his throat and then he’s flying through the air, tossed from the wreckage like he weighs nothing, as Sam screams his name.

Instinct makes Dean curl in on himself and try to twist for a better landing, but there’s no way this isn’t going to hurt like hell – and he would know. He hits the ground with a jarring thump, smacks his head again, and, in redundant irony, feels a rib crack. This night is just _awesome_.

Sam is half yelling-half wheezing at Zachariah but Dean can’t make out what he’s saying through the persistent ringing in his ears made worse by the roar of blood and pain. Zachariah’s voice somehow cuts through it just fine, though.

“Go and join your brother then if you’re going to kick up such a fuss.”

“No!” Dean yells as fear spikes through the pain and he rolls to his side, but it’s too late. Sam lands next to him _hard_ and the impact sprays Dean’s face with grit. “You son of a bitch!” he yells at Zachariah though his eyes are on his brother.

Sam’s curled in on himself; face contorted with pain, and is giving great, wet hacks that spray the ground and Dean’s arm with thick blood. The froth bubbling out of his mouth is now dark red instead of pink and Dean feels like his heart is trying to crawl up his throat. Zachariah is strolling casually toward them with his hands spread palms to the sky and the smug smile is back in place. Infuriatingly, there’s no sign of the bullet wound.

“Oh happy day!” he declares to the stars before fixing his eyes back on the brothers. “Normally, I’d have to go through the same tiresome old dance where I ask you to say yes and you retort with a snappy insult before saying no. Then there’s hurting you and Sam to try and force you to say yes and the frustration of your continued refusal before _something_ interrupts us and you’re able to escape. But guess what, boys.” Zachariah stops in front of them, his grin wide and sinister. “Tonight I don’t have to do any of that. We’ve got this place locked down so your pal Castiel can’t make it here and I don’t have to do a thing to either of you. All I have to do, Dean, is stand here and watch as your precious Sammy’s lungs fill and he drowns in his own blood before your very eyes.”

Dean’s hand is clenched in Sam’s jacket and he can feel his brother struggling for every breath. The rage he feels is so acute it’s indescribable. “Zachariah, I swear-”

“Save the hollow threats and indignant theatrics, kiddo, Sam’s worm food. Be it today or after he inevitably says yes to Lucifer and Michael annihilates him, the end result is the same. Of course, it doesn’t _have_ to be today. Usual deal, Dean – say yes to Michael and I’ll save your precious brother.”

 _Cas, where the hell are you?_ Dean thinks desperately and Zachariah laughs.

“Your rebellious little Angel is busy, Dean, I wouldn’t count on him to save you this time.” Dean is furious that the sanctimonious bastard is invading his mind but if Zachariah is aware of the seething hatred directed towards him he doesn’t show it. “We took the liberty of setting up wards before we came to fetch you. Castiel has been cut off from the heavenly host. He isn’t powerful enough to get through my spells anymore.”

“They do very little to stop me, though.” The new voice cuts through Dean like an ice blade and even Sam freezes mid cough. Zachariah and his goons swivel around, eyes wide and fearful, to face the figure that’s appeared at the edge of the crash site. Lucifer is looking at the totalled Impala curiously. “What a strange object this is. It has no life or soul yet it _shines_ with energy. I can see you two have had quite the adventures in this automobile.”

Dean’s heart has decided that crawling out his throat isn’t fast enough and is now trying to crack clean through his ribcage and out his chest. His eyes are glued to where Lucifer is looking dispassionately at wreckage littering the road, though his Hunter’s training is automatically assessing their surroundings and checking for civilians. The car that hit them is a good distance away and wrapped around a tree like a winter scarf. Considering the bodies laid out on the road in a neat line, the goon squad has pre-emptively taken care of witness clean up. The flare of anger Dean feels at that would likely be a lot stronger if he wasn’t so shit scared right now and desperately looking for an escape route.

Sam reaches the limit of his ability to remain quiet and collapses into wet hacking once more. The sound of it reminds Dean that he also needs to breathe and he sucks in air, wincing as his rib creaks. As badly as he wants to check on his little brother, Dean can’t tear his eyes away as Lucifer turns his gaze on them. The unnaturally bright blue eyes soften in what looks like sympathy and Dean feels his hair stand on end.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Lucifer says and starts walking toward them. “I’ll fix you up good as new.”

“You stay the hell away from him, you evil bastard,” Dean rasps shakily and Lucifer stops with raised eyebrows and a fond smile.

“Come now, Dean. I know how much it’s killing you to see your brother in so much pain. You don’t want to see him die anymore than I do. Well, not that it’ll matter if he does, I’ll just bring him back, but it’ll be painful and better to avoid the whole messy business to begin with.”

“He wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for your fat faced butt buddies,” Dean growls and flicks his eyes purposefully at Zachariah and the other angels who are standing as motionless as marble statues. Lucifer’s gaze follows Dean’s and the angels flinch nervously.

“Now just wait a minute,” Zachariah speaks up, voice wobbling sightly with nerves, when Lucifer’s attention settles on him. “We had nothing to do with this. It was a genuine, human car crash. No angelic interference what so ever. They were in this condition when we got here.”

“Lying’s a sin, ass-wipe,” Dean says venomously. “I suppose we threw ourselves over here, huh?”

Dean’s not really sure what Zachariah snarls back at him because at that moment Sam makes a horrible gurgled groaning noise and all Dean’s attention is instantly on him. He knows he needs to keep an eye on their enemies but there really is fuck all he can do to protect them right now and he wishes to God – wherever the illusive bastard is – that he had the colt handy! Even if it won’t kill Lucifer it will drop him for a few precious moments and there’s nothing to say that the other stooges are immune to it. Zachariah is _still_ talking and its Sam’s name that finally makes Dean tune back into the conversation.

“Look, Lucifer, there’s no need for any unpleasantries here. We’re not interested in Sam so why don’t you take him, we’ll take Dean, and we can all go our separate ways.”

“No!” Sam suddenly yells and Dean has no idea where he found the breath or strength to do it. Sam latches onto Dean’s arm and Dean’s gripping him back without hesitation, their hands locked around each other’s wrists.

Zachariah is glaring at Sam hard enough to _feel_ , but Lucifer has that irritating as fuck sympathetic expression on his face again, not at all perturbed by the outburst. Dean’s punched enough angels to know that trying to smack it off is pointless, but he’s still tempted.

“Do try to restrain your need for outbursts, boys,” Zachariah says and the dismissive edge grates on Dean’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Sam must feel the same way because he manages to muster up a pretty convincing glare through his ridiculous hair and all the blood covering his face. Dean doesn’t bother trying to hide the spark of pride; his kid Sasquatch has always had guts.

“Sam, as much as it pains me to say, this… what is your name anyway?” Lucifer asks Zachariah absently before waving a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. The point is that he has a point. If you-”

“No! I won’t let them have Dean,” Sam bites out before making a truly horrific gurgling sound and the bottom of Dean’s stomach drops out as Sam’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Sam?! Stay with me!” he yells and Sam jerks back to awareness only to tense up and choke out a thick glob of dark blood.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough. I’m really not comfortable watching him suffer like this,” Lucifer says pragmatically and walks toward them again. “If Sam’s not comfortable leaving Dean in your care I’m certainly not going to argue with him. The whole idea is for me and Sam to be friends,” Lucifer smiles like his friendship with Sam is going to be all tea parties and braiding each other’s hair and its creeping Dean the fuck out, “and if that means Dean tags along for the ride then so be it.”

“We’re not going anywhere with any of you,” Dean snaps, though he knows that realistically there’s very little he can do to stop it. Even if he didn’t have a broken leg, broken rib, and broken brother hindering him, he’s up against freaking _angels_ and there are days when being a human sucks no matter how stubborn and scrappy you are in a fight.

Lucifer is looking at him with a fondly chiding smile and crouches down to his level, saying solemnly, “Dean, you and I really do need to try and get along. Me and your brother are going to be in a rather serious and permanent relationship soon, and for his sake we should try to put our differences behind us.” Lucifer ignores Dean’s spluttered “Screw you,” to smile sadly down at where Sam’s watching him apprehensively through his wayward hair. “And, Sam, could you please stop praying to other Angels when I’m here. It hurts my feelings.”

“Go to hell,” Sam manages to wheeze, which earns him an amused huff from the Devil.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but – and I assure you this isn’t my call – you see, I’m afraid we can’t let you take Dean,” Zachariah says in his wheedling tone that reminds Dean of when they first met and Zachariah though he could talk Dean into accepting a future as an angel condom. Outwardly, Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change much, there’s a slight hitch in one of his eyebrows but that’s about it. It’s the eyes that change and the ambient temperature drops dramatically. Judging by the nervous flutter of Zachariah’s hands, he senses it too and rushes to say, “By all means, please take Sam! B-but, we’re under orders to deliver Dean to Michael.”

Lucifer’s standing slowly and turning to face Zachariah, all controlled, fluid grace that no human will ever be able to accomplish. While the angels are facing off against each other – with great trepidation in the case of the goon squad – Sam clutches at Dean and whispers, “Where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be here,” Dean hisses back with a certainty he doesn’t truly feel and wipes some of the blood from Sam’s mouth with his jacket sleeve. “Don’t worry, Sammy. We’ll get out of this.”

Bravado, all false bravado, but that’s ok because he’s gotten them out of insane situations with less.

Zachariah’s followers have started fanning out around Lucifer and Dean’s got the sinking feeling that the shit is about to hit the fan in ways he’s never even begun to imagine. Lucifer’s chuckling quietly to himself and glancing from angel to angel with an air that can only be appropriately described as devil-may-care.

“Guys, I know I’ve been gone for awhile but surely you can’t have forgotten. I am still an Archangel.”

Zachariah bows his head respectfully and spreads his hands in a placating gesture. “Of course we haven’t forgotten and we have absolutely no desire for any of this to become unpleasant. But, we do have our orders and-”

It all happens too fast for Dean to comprehend but suddenly Lucifer is standing right over him and has one of the nameless angels dangling by the throat.

“Distraction techniques are so tacky when poorly executed,” Lucifer says casually as the angel in his grip struggles madly, his eyes wide and terrified. “I gave you the chance to leave. You should’ve taken it.”

“We have _orders_ ,” another angel stresses in a panicked voice, like having _orders_ means _everything_ and Lucifer should understand that. Lucifer really doesn’t look like he cares.

“You know,” Lucifer says with a thoughtful air, “before I was cast down, I used to watch you lesser angels running around like scurrying mice. Always believing you were on important business, always so desperate to carry out your orders in the hope of a little pat on the head and to be ordered around some more. You should have more self esteem.” The legs kicking near Dean’s head are disconcerting, but not nearly as much as the lazy strength Lucifer is displaying by holding the angel captive while giving his speech. “Take this situation for example. Haven’t I been reasonable? I gave you a chance to go, said I’d look after the boys, and we all could have parted ways happily. But no.” Lucifer rounds Dean and Sam, placing himself between them the goon squad again. “You decided that carrying out your precious _orders_ is more important than keeping this temporary and – might I add – extremely fragile peace we’ve got going. You decided to try and sneak behind my back and steal what’s _mine_.”

Lucifer throws the struggling angel across the clearing and, with a flick of his fingers, explodes him. Sam, Dean, and the other angels startle violently at the shocking display and the bloody gore that sprays them all. Lucifer tuts as he brushes a chunk of meat from his shoulder.

“And they call me the deceptive one.”

From the way the angels have started twitching, Dean figures they’re trying to teleport their way out. From the panicked looks on their faces, it seems they’re shit outta luck. That’s just fine by Dean. If he and Sam can’t shazzam their way out of the situation then those bastards should be stuck here too. Mostly, though, Dean’s feeling fucking terrified and is pretty sure he’s doing his best deer-in-headlights impression right now. He _knows_ he is when the Devil turns around and smiles at him.

“Sam’s not going to last much longer.”

Screw the Devil, Dean’s attention is instantly on his little brother. Sam’s eyes have rolled back and he’s taking in abortive little sips of air as blood dribbles from his mouth. His grip is slack around Dean’s wrist while Dean’s squeezing Sam’s wrist hard enough to cut off any blood that may be trying to travel there instead of his lungs.

“You all just hang on a minute, I’ll be right with you,” Lucifer is saying to the angels over his shoulder as he squats next to Sam and Dean again. Every instinct in Dean is screaming not to let Lucifer touch Sam as the Devil extends his hand, but Dean swallows them down and tightens his grip on his brother instead. Lucifer can heal Sam – Dean knows that – but if he tries to zap him anywhere then Dean’s going along for the ride too.

But Lucifer doesn’t try to take Sam from him. Instead, he trails his fingers _lovingly_ over Sam’s face and _fucking hell_ just how weird is this night going to get? Lucifer cups Sam’s blood smeared cheek and Sam gasps in a deep, clean, blessed breath and his eyes focus again with full clarity, darting around wild and confused. Lucifer takes the opportunity to run his fingers through Sam’s dishevelled hair and Sam scrambles away from the caress, pressing into Dean. Dean, of course, doubles over with a pained grunt as his now completely healthy moose of a brother jostles his broken leg and shoves an elbow into his cracked rib.

“Dean!” Sam frets as Lucifer says, “There now, that’s much better.”

Dean cracks open eyes he doesn’t remember closing and peers up to see Sam kneeling beside him, cradling his weight, as Lucifer stands over them both looking mighty satisfied.

“Now Sam,” Lucifer says, voice fond and warm, “I know you’re feeling nice and sprightly, but I’m not going to fix Dean just yet. Can’t have you boys running off when I’ve finally found you again. So, seeing as I know you won’t abandon him, Dean will just have to wait until I’ve finished up here and then we can all leave together. Though, you might want to watch his leg. He’s bleeding out a lot slower than you were but he is starting to look a bit peaky.”

Dean looks down at where the bone is still sticking out of his jeans and realises that not all the blood soaking into the ground is Sam’s as Sam makes a kind of horrified ‘gyah’ sound and starts tearing his over shirt into strips for make-shift bandages.

“Right!” Lucifer declares, clapping his hands together in anticipation. “Where were we?”

“Lucifer, there’s no need for any of this. It’s-” Zachariah breaks off into short burst of panicked laughter. “It’s _ludicrous_!”

“Hmm… yeah,” Lucifer agrees, scrunching up his nose in a way that’s both disarming and creepy as hell. “But, see, you irritated me with your sneaky little attempt to snatch Dean and now I just have the urge to squash you.” The angels jerk a frightened step back and Lucifer laughs like their fear is a great, cosmic joke. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” he assures them, “I’ll give you a sporting chance. You can even use your swords.” And with a dismissive flick of Lucifer’s fingers, the silver angel blades drop into their owner’s hands. “I don’t really need mine so I’m going at it bare knuckled.”

“Fuck,” Sam states flatly as he presses a wad of fabric to the wound on Dean’s leg, and Dean agrees with the sentiment completely.

Then the world goes to hell.

Or at least it seems that way because suddenly there’s fire everywhere and a screeching wind whipping dirt into their faces and this is _nothing_ like the angel skirmishes they’ve seen Cas get into. Zachariah and his goons are obviously pulling out all the stops against Lucifer and the bitch of the thing is that it doesn’t seem to be making a scrap of difference. Lucifer’s slapping them around like a cat playing with snails and Dean knows that playing is exactly what Lucifer is doing. The Devil twists and slides around his opponents like he’s dancing, turning their sword strikes back against them or deflecting them _into_ each other. Sam and Dean have to turn their faces away and close their eyes tightly as pulse after pulse of flaring light explodes out of the dying angels’ vessels.

Suddenly, the earth starts to quake and a tree collapses somewhere to their left with a loud groan of protest. A high pitched ringing starts and Dean’s heard this sound enough times to know exactly what’s going on. Sure enough, Zachariah is standing at the edge of the battle with arms stretched skyward and chanting.

“You would summon Michael here, now?” Lucifer demands of Zachariah as flashes of bright light start overhead and the ringing gets increasingly louder.

“The vessels are here and so are you! Now’s as good as ever!” Zachariah screams back and Dean can hear the hysterical edge to his voice even over Michael’s approach. Zachariah isn’t fooling anyone, especially not Dean. The spineless bastard’s scared witless and calling Michael is his best chance at survival.

That’s as much as Sam and Dean can stand to observe, though, because the light is getting too bright and the noise is tearing at their ears. They huddle together, sheltering their bodies as much as possible with eyes shut tight and hands over their ears even though it’s useless and Dean can feel the delicate inner drum splitting apart. The shuddering ground moves his broken leg constantly and the pain is damn near overwhelming but he knows he has to stay with it. He has to stay aware of what’s happening.

There’s whispering in Dean’s head and he can only just hear what its saying over the sharp ringing. He has no problem _feeling_ what it wants, a sharp tug of impatient demand.

 _Let me in. Become my sword. Fulfil your destiny. Let me in. Let me in._

“No!” Dean shouts into the trembling earth, but the whispering gets louder, the tugging more insistent.

 _This is fate. It was decided long before the birth of man. You cannot fight this. It is God’s will. Let me in, Dean._

“ _No_!” Dean shouts louder and there’s a hand grabbing at him clumsily. Dean would recognise Sam’s giant hands anywhere and latches onto his brother, fingers once more locked tight around each other’s wrists.

They won’t give in! They will not bend over and spread their legs so the angels can have their pissing contest. If Michael and Lucifer want to destroy each other so badly they can meet and battle in their true forms. Dean will never submit and watch helpless as he’s forced to fight Sam to the death. Never!

“Never!” Dean twists and screams blindly to the sky. “I’ll never give in! This is _my_ body, _my_ brother, and _my_ _fucking planet_! I won’t let you bastards have any of them!”

 _You’re wrong_ , the whispers taunt and the tugging becomes a determined drag.

But then there’s another voice in Dean’s head and this one infinitely clearer, calmer, and _old_.

 _Perhaps._

For a moment – so short it’s nearly imperceptible – everything freezes into a shocked, motionless silence. Then a flare of energy – powerful, bright, and achingly pure – explodes around them and drives Sam and Dean hard into the ground, knocking the air from their lungs and possibly cracking another of Dean’s ribs.

Dean’s squeezing Sam’s wrist hard enough to grate the bones together and make his knuckles ache, and Sam’s return grip is just as fierce. But suddenly, Sam’s torn from his grasp and Dean’s helpless, fucking _helpless_ to stop it.

“ _SAM_!”

Dean opens his eyes heedless of the risk of them burning from his skull, desperate to find his brother. Before they can widen more than the tiniest crack, a hand is slapping over them protectively and Cas is there, curved over Dean’s back and calling his name over the chaos. With a jerk and flutter of wings, Cas pulls him clear of the battle.

 

~*~*~

 

They land with a hard thump and Dean shouts a curse as _everything_ in his body protests the abuse. Before he’s so much as caught his breath, though, he’s dragging himself into a sit and looking frantically around. Dean tries to scrabble to his feet and collapses with a pained cry as his leg reminds him that it’s still very much broken.

“Sam?” he yells, voice raw and cracking as he blinks bright spots from his vision and swallows down the nausea roiling in his gut. The ringing in his ears has gotten louder but is no longer the piercing pitch of angel invasion, more a sharp tinnitus. There’s a warm itch beneath both ears and Dean swipes his hand over one side, his fingers coming away wet and red. “Fuck. _Sammy_?!”

“Lucifer has him.”

Cas’s voice comes to him as if spoken under water and Dean almost sprawls to the floor from a sharp jolt of vertigo when he twists to find the angel. Cas is on his knees and doubled over behind him, and Dean instantly has a fist full of grubby trench coat.

“Cas, we gotta go get him! Take me to Sam now!”

“I can’t,” Cas says and Dean yanks at the coat in frustration, Cas remains as immovable as stone.

“Damnit, Cas, get me to him!” Dean yells, anger covering his panic at knowing Sam’s been taken by the freaking _Devil_ who wants to wear him like a party dress to the apocalypse.

“I can’t,” Cas repeats, his voice cracking harshly and making Dean pause. Cas is still bent double; curled tightly in on himself, head down, and panting.

Angels don’t need to breathe, let alone _pant_.

“Look at me,” Dean demands and there’s a moment’s pause before Cas slowly uncurls and reveals badly burned skin across his face and hands. It’s horrific. “Jesus, Cas, what happened to you?”

Cas looks to the side, and frowns before wincing and smoothing his features. Large patches of his face are stripped raw and angry red, reminding Dean of the barbeque pork slices Sam loved so much at Chinese restaurants when they were kids. His hands are charred black, and the scent of burnt meat fills Dean’s nose. It makes his blood run cold as his stomach turns in protest and sympathy.

“Zachariah’s wards were… formidable,” Cas says in a low, gruff tone and anger flares in Dean’s gut.

“Zachariah’s a spineless dick,” he growls. “Kissing Lucifer’s ass and making his cronies do the dirty work of trying to snatch me. Didn’t end so well for the crony.”

“I imagine not. It is almost an impossible feat to get under and Archangel’s guard. Especially one as powerful as Lucifer,” Cas agrees, still not making eye contact.

“You did it,” Dean reminds him and finally Cas meets his gaze. “You stole me and Sam right out from under his nose in that graveyard and the bastard didn’t have a clue.”

Cas’ features soften and he stares at Dean in the way he does when Dean’s done or said something unexpected. It never fails to make Dean feel awkward but he has more pressing things to focus on tonight and demands, “Why aren’t you healing?”

“The damage that has been done to me is deeper than this vessel and severe. I’m not as strong as I once was; it will take me time to recover. Getting you away from Michael used up a considerable amount of my energy reserve. He already had a hold of you; I suspect that is why Lucifer only took Sam.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans and runs a frustrated hand over his face, the glass cuts and gravel rash stinging at the rough drag. “I don’t suppose…” He digs his phone out of his pocket. The case is cracked but it looks to still be working. The words ‘No Signal’ are on the screen, however, and Dean barely resists the urge to throw it across the room in frustration. “Lucifer healed his ribs; you won’t be able to find him.”

“No,” Cas agrees quietly.

Dean swears again and scrubs a hand through his hair. Inside he’s full of nervous tension, fairly vibrating with the need to get up and do _something_ except he can’t get up because of his busted leg and there’s nothing to do even if he could. He presses a hand over his eyes and breathes deep, holds it for as long as he can before slowly it out. It hits him that his ribs no longer hurt.

“You healed me,” he states while lowering his hand and Cas nods.

“I had to expend the energy for your ribs so we can hide,” Cas says as he shifts around and leans against a stained wall, the grey paint bubbled and peeling in large patches. “I have also stopped your bleeding. The rest I will heal when I am recovered, bear with it for the moment.”

Dean very deliberately doesn’t look at his leg. He doesn’t want to know how mangled it is after all the rough treatment. It’s throbbing and aching sharply, but since he’s no longer bleeding out it can wait.

“Where are we anyway?” he asks, looking around the empty house. It’s all peeling walls, curling and cracked linoleum, and smells of water damage, dust, and long abandonment. It’s also quite bright though Dean can’t see any of the lights on.

“An old homestead near Deniliquin,” Cas answers, slouched boneless against the wall, eyes closed, and scorched face relaxed except for a small furrow between his brows.

“Deniliquin?” Dean mumbles and runs the name through his mental road map. It doesn’t sound familiar at all. “Where is that? Somewhere in Iowa?”

“Australia.”

“ _Australia_?” Cas reopens his eyes at Dean’s loud exclamation. “As in _Australia_ Australia? With kangaroos and Crocodile Dundee?”

Cas’ squints at him in confusion. “What’s a dundee?”

“Jesus Fucking _Christ_!” Dean shouts and blatantly ignores Cas’ frown and quiet reprimand for the blasphemy.  “Australia. Shit, Cas, could you have gotten us any further away?”

“Not without leaving the planet,” the angel says before adding petulantly, “and I’m not strong enough to do that anymore.”

Dean’s really not sure what to say to that, so he settles for waving his hands around in a vague motion that he hopes conveys ‘whoopty-fucking-do’ and how very unimpressed he is at the idea that Cas could flit off to other planets on a whim when they first met. Because that thought really is completely not impressive or terrifying at all. When they get Sam back – and they fucking will – he’ll have to make sure the giant geek never finds that out because he’ll never stop asking questions and Dean doesn’t want to know the answers. They have enough trouble with monsters from their own damn planet, let alone other ones.

“When you get your full mojo back, you are never to zap me off to another planet. _Ever_ ,” Dean grumbles for the sake of saying something and to make sure Cas is aware of the rules.

“Of course not,” Cas agrees and Dean’s mildly appeased by this until it’s followed up with, “It would be unfair to inflict you upon other cultures.”

“Oh you’re hilarious,” Dean deadpans and Cas looks momentarily pleased, like the comment is sincerely meant and he’s finally had a break through in the humour department. Dean lets him have his moment; the guy did just save him from rampaging archangels after all. “If you’re so low on angel juice, why zap us all the way to Australia?”

“Distance makes no difference, it’s all one step,” Cas answers as he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall again. “This place merely crossed my mind a safe option.”

“How did you know about it?”

“I searched for my Father here not long ago.”

Dean’s eyebrows hike up in surprise. “God’s in Australia?” He doesn’t know why that would surprise him so much. Considering the apocalypse started in America and God seems to have no interest in it, why wouldn’t he be on the other side of the planet. Even so, Dean would never expect to find him in a dump like this.

“No. But he could have been.”

There is both disappointment and resignation in Cas’ tone and irritation itches under Dean’s skin at it. He knows what that’s like, to lose a father and search for him _everywhere_ because he had no idea where to start. At least Dean’s search had been narrowed down to the one country and there had been signs to help pin-point John, monsters terrorising towns being mysteriously slaughtered and such. Dean still remembers the desperation, though, the driving need to find some clue, hear some scrap of news about his father’s location. Some hint that he was still alive.

“When Michael came,” Dean says, not entirely sure if he should tell Cas or not but feeling obligated to give another searching son possible news of his father, “he was talking to me. In here.” Dean taps a finger against his forehead, knowing Cas would understand even though his eyes are still closed. “He was whispering at me, telling me to let him in and yammering on with his ‘prepare to be assimilated, resistance is futile’ crap. But… I dunno.” Dean scowls down at the blood covering his fingers, dried and uncomfortable under his nails. “There was this moment and… this other voice.”

“What did the voice say?”

Dean flicks his gaze to Cas but the angel hasn’t moved, eyes still closed.

“‘Perhaps’. Michael told me that I would fail and the voice said – _he_ said ‘perhaps’. Then there was this, I don’t even know, man! There was like this blast of power and it was so pure and fucking _perfect_.” And doesn’t Dean feel like a total girl describing it that way. He takes a moment to try and think of a better way to word what he wants to say next, but subtlety is Sam’s area. Dean’s more a straight-down-the-line kinda guy so he plunges right in and asks, “Cas, was that God?”

“No.”

The denial is stated flatly and without inflection, but Dean still feels shocked by it, inexplicably angry all of a sudden. “ _No_? But the energy was so-”

“Dean, it was not God. It was Michael.” Cas opens his eyes again, his blue gaze steady and certain. “I do not know about the voice, but the energy was most assuredly Michael’s. Michael was startled by something so it is possible that my Father intervened, however briefly.  Michael’s reaction was enough to destroy Zachariah’s wards so I could get through.”

Dean had been so sure that something that achingly pure, that fucking _holy_ , had to have come from… but of course not. It had come from a stuck-up, spineless dick of an archangel that wanted to turn Dean into a meat suit and destroy the planet.

“Shit,” he mutters and clenches his teeth against the bitter disappointment. Dead beat dads have always had a way of making him feel like this.

“Dean-” Cas’s voice is too gentle and Dean doesn’t want to hear it.

“How’d you get me away?” he asks, cutting Cas off harshly. “You said Michael had his hooks in and even Lucifer wouldn’t try it. So, how the hell’d you pull it off?”

Cas sighs but allows Dean the change of topic. “I was the one to raise you from perdition. You bear my mark and we share a bond. Also,” Cas’ eyes darken, “you were calling for me.”

Dean looks at Cas’ scorched face and hands, the dirt and burns covering the angel’s usually pristine clothes. Cas always looks rumpled, like he’s just stepped out of a wind tunnel, but he’s never dirty. Dean inhales deeply and shifts a little, his broken leg giving a particularly violent throb at the movement.

“You could hear us?”

“Yes.”

God, Cas must have fought so hard and Dean has the sickening mental image of the angel throwing himself against an impossible barrier – something strong enough to burn an _angel_ – again and again because his friends were screaming for him. Dean swallows thickly and forces a grin on his face.

“So you’ve shown up two archangels by stealing the prize right out from under their fat noses. You’re something else, man.”

The corners of Cas’ lips twitch up into a small, proud smile and if Dean’s stomach gives a flutter, it’s only a sympathetic response to the way the burns stretch.

He clears his throat – damn, Dean could do with a beer round about now – and asks, “How come it’s taking you so long to heal?”

Cas looks away and the smile is gone. “Zachariah’s wards were malicious. They were designed not only to keep me out, but to burn away my grace. The harder I tried to break through the more they burned.”

“Cas, why didn’t you stop?”

Bright blue eyes stare intently into Dean’s confused green. “You were calling for me.”

Dean holds the gaze and breathes deep. Castiel, the angel who braved the fires of hell to save him and hasn’t stop throwing himself into the flames since.

“How do we fix you?” he demands more than asks.

Cas’ gaze turns a little shifty and Dean recognises that look. Hell, Dean’s pretty sure he taught him that look. “I will heal in time.”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that and we don’t have time for the cryptic game. Sam’s probably getting date raped by the devil as we speak and you’re no good to anyone with crispy fried wings. Spit it out, Cas. How do I help?”

“Dean-”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me right now. We need to recharge your angel batteries, get back state side, and kick some archangel ass. We’re busy men and got no time to be sitting around mouldy old buildings licking our wounds and having a D’n’M. Tell me what we gotta do already.”

Cas gives him his best intense stare and Dean meets it determinedly. If the situation is going to digress into a staring match, Dean’s under no illusions that the angel will win it, hands down, but it seems Cas isn’t up for playing that game tonight. Instead he drops a bomb.

“To speed my recovery, I will need to absorb energy from your soul.”

“Oookay,” Dean says and tries not to look as unnerved as he feels, “how does that work?”

Cas pushes away from the wall and shuffles closer to him saying, “The human soul is immensely powerful. There are a number of ways to access it and most of them are painful and intrusive or require your death.”

 _Of course_ , Dean thinks with a huff, _because this is my life_.

“However,” Cas continues as he settles himself well within Dean’s personal space, “our bond will serve to ease the transfer and will make it considerably less unpleasant for you. I will not be feeding on your actual soul, more absorbing the residual energy it gives off, but it will still have an affect on you. Mostly, it will make you want to sleep.”

“Good, right,” Dean says and licks his lips nervously. “What do I do?”

“Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

It takes a second for Dean to compute that and realise that, yes, he did hear correctly. “Dude, what are you gonna do? Kiss me?”

“It will require out mouths to make contact, yes.”

If anyone ever asks him – not that he’ll be telling anyone about this situation _ever_ – what he said next, Dean will make up something very clever and witty. Unfortunately, what actually comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of, “ _Bwah_?”

Cas is giving him the look that clearly says Dean should stop being difficult and do what the all knowing angel tells him to already. Dean hates that look! He squares his shoulders and glares belligerently back at Cas. “Well, get on with it then.”

“You need to close your eyes, Dean. Things may get bright.”

Dean doesn’t really want to close his eyes, but he also doesn’t want them melting out of his skull so concedes to the instruction. His lids lower and he has to stop himself from stupidly wetting his lips again as he parts them slightly. The light brush of a finger to the corner of his mouth has him flinching back a little in surprise, but he stubbornly forces himself to hold still and ignores the way his skin feels like it’s lighting up.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Cas murmurs, close enough that warm air puffs across Dean’s mouth, and then there are lips pressing firmly against his, pushing his mouth further open.

Cas’ lips are warm and dry, his fingertips rough on Dean’s cheek, and it’s only the scent of burnt flesh and anticipation for having his soul fed on that makes Dean’s stomach flutter like crazy and his heart thump double time.

Then… Dean’s not entirely sure how to describe it. Cas sort of _inhales_ but instead of the air being drawn from his lungs there’s heat uncoiling from deep in his chest and sliding up his throat. It’s completely unlike anything Dean’s ever felt before; white hot without burning, gentle, strong, and broken – splintered and jagged along the edges – and Dean has no idea how he even knows this but he _does_.

Cas is obviously leaking angel because Dean’s eyelids are bright with yellows and reds. The house has started shaking or maybe it’s just him, and he’s suddenly hit with the completely stupid and panicked thought that Cas shouldn’t take from him. Cas shouldn’t have to absorb the dregs of his broken and hell tortured soul. Cas is pure – even compared to other angels, Cas is painfully righteous – and Dean’s the most tainted person he knows! He was irrevocably tainted long before he went to hell.

“Dean, don’t fight me,” Cas whispers in a brush of lips that’s closer to a kiss than what they’ve already done and has Dean shuddering. “Please.”

It’s the please that gets him. No demands, nothing about being owed because Cas is only in this condition because he flipped off hell and rebelled against heaven for Dean. He just says ‘please’ and Dean is helpless not to give him what he asks.

 _Take it then_ , Dean thinks as he buries a hand in Cas’ hair and shoves their mouths together, opening wider. _Take it all_.

This time when Cas inhales, it’s more of a gasp that does steal air from Dean’s lungs as a torrent of heat rushes between them. The yellowish-red behind his eyelids flares into brilliant gold and Cas is grasping at him, the fingers on his cheek now smooth skin and sliding into the short hair at the back of his head as an arm wraps around his back.

All the pain is gone or Dean can no longer register it over the euphoric rush spinning wildly through his head, and with a shamed jolt Dean realises that he’s hard. As soon as the thought occurs, Cas is fisting a hand in his short hair and dragging him closer, drawing deeper from Dean’s mouth. Dean has no idea how long they stay like that for, but he can feel fatigue washing over him and he no longer has to force his eyes to remain closed. His body is relaxing even as he stubbornly fights it, and Dean has to rely more and more on Cas to hold him up. His hands slip from the angel’s shoulders to rest useless and limp against folds of warm trench coat.

By the time Cas’ mouth detaches from his and the flare of light dulls down to nothing, Dean feels like he’s gone three rounds against a wendigo then had a full body Thai massage with a happy ending. God he hopes he hasn’t done something stupid like come in his pants, because that would just be the _perfect_ end to this fucked up joke of a day.

Cas is still holding him, which is a good thing because otherwise Dean thinks he might flop onto the floor in a useless, boneless pile. He’s exhausted and shaky and more than a little high, but pushes all that aside and forces his heavy eyelids up. There are no sign of the burns anymore, and Cas is back to his usual look of being wind blown and squeaky clean. The steady stare watching him from only a few inches away is a thin ring of electric blue around pupils blown wide, and Cas looks more aroused than he has a right to when Dean’s feeling this weak and wrecked.

If Cas looks like _that_ , Dean doesn’t want to know how he’s faring right now. He makes an utterly bullshit effort at straightening up and taking his own weight, but it seems that Cas isn’t interested in watching him flop around and stubbornly continues holding Dean exactly where he rests; pinned between immovable arms and chest. Of course, Cas has no sense of personal space or social stereotypes so it’s only Dean that’s bothered by how they must look like the front cover of every cheesy chick romance novel in existence, especially considering Cas is even supporting his head for him.

“I warned you that you will feel fatigued. You need to sleep,” Cas says and his voice is a much lower, gruffer growl than usual and curls through Dean’s belly like a warm breeze.

Dean’s voice has been utterly _ruined_. He sounds like he spent all night drinking bottom shelf whiskey and smoking cheap cigars when he says, “I’m fine.” Which is total crap seeing as he still can’t sit up under his own power but fuck it; he’s always been an excellent liar, especially to himself. “Gotta find Sam. Take me to Bobby’s.”

Cas doesn’t move for a long moment, looking like he wants to argue and possibly dump Dean on the ground to make his point, but eventually says, “Of course.”

With a flutter of wings and a far gentler arrival than earlier, Dean is surrounded by the familiar scents of gun oil and old spice as he’s dropped onto Bobby’s lumpy sofa.

 

~*~*~

 

It’s the blare of a car horn that shocks Sam from sleep and even before he’s opened his eyes, the memories are flooding back.

“Dean!” Sam gasps as he’s jolting upright and met with the sight of an unfamiliar room. It’s mostly empty except for the bed that Sam is laid out on, the old springs screeching in protest at his abrupt movement. A battered chest of draws stands against the wall and faded yellow curtains frame a dirty paned window where a figure stands.

Sam recognises him instantly and is on his feet with a vehement “Shit,” at the same time as Lucifer turns from looking out the window and says, “Hello Sam.”

There’s a million things running through Sam’s head – questions, exit strategies, flat out panicked gibbering – but what comes out of his mouth is, “What did you do?”

Lucifer’s mouth quirks up in a smile as he leans against the window frame, the lights from outside highlighting his features in dull orange. His eyes, though, are still a piercingly vivid blue.

“You got a little hysterical earlier,” Lucifer tells him and Sam remembers it. He remembers hands grabbing him, being dragged away from Dean, remembers fighting desperate and sloppy in panic, punching Lucifer in the face so hard that he broke his hand and didn’t care, just kept fighting. Sam clenches his hand into a fist and there’s no pain.

“I thought it best that you sleep off your distress. Completely understandable of course, it’s been a very busy night for you what with the automobile accident and the angel invasion. That much excitement’s bound to make anyone feel a bit frazzled.”

Something deep inside Sam screams at the thought of being defenceless in sleep while Lucifer, fucking _Lucifer_ , is in the same room. Having his dreams invaded is one thing, at least they weren’t physically sharing the same space. This, though? _This_ is just creepy as fuck! Sam’s mind is stumbling over the knowledge of it as he flicks his eyes down his body to check everything’s still there and accounted for. He looks fine, he feels fine. His clothes are still stained with dust and blood, but his skin is free of grime.

“I didn’t do anything,” Lucifer reassures him, “just cleaned you up a little. I know you always sleep better when you’re clean.”

Oh God, how the fuck is this his _life_?

“Where’s Dean?” Sam demands, forcing himself to focus on matters more pressing than how his whole body is crawling at how invaded he feels right now. Lucifer’s brow furrows in the sympathetic expression Sam’s starting to become familiar with and is still incredibly wary of. “Where’s my brother?”

“When we left, Michael had a hold of him.”

The bottom drops out of Sam’s stomach and he has to widen his stance to regain his balance as Lucifer’s words literally rock him. It’s like everything inside him freezes into ice for a second and Sam has to forcibly make himself take a shuddering breath. Lucifer takes a step towards him and Sam automatically jerks back two, hitting the wall and flinching away, moving so he has more space around him to manoeuvre. Like it will make a difference. He feels shaky and his heart is beating so hard he can feel every pulse of it thumping against his chest. Michael has Dean, Lucifer has Sam, and everything’s all lined up to play out the way Cas and Zachariah and Gabriel have always said it will. But, Dean won’t give in, Sam knows this. Dean will never give in.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam says and his words sound strangled. He takes another deep breath and steels his resolve before repeating in a firmer tone, “It doesn’t matter. Dean won’t say yes and neither will I.”

Lucifer smiles at him, gentle and understanding. “It’s alright, Sam, I’m not going to force you into anything.”

At Sam’s disbelieving glare, Lucifer takes a pointed step back and rests against the window sill, muscles loose and expression calm. If Lucifer was a human, Sam might have relaxed slightly, but Lucifer’s as far from human as it’s possible to get and Sam’s nerves are as tight as a bow string.

“If it makes you feel any better, that little fallen angel friend of yours was flying to Dean’s rescue,” Lucifer says in an off-hand way and Sam feels hope flare bright in his chest.

“Cas was there?” Sam demands and at Lucifer’s nod he lets out a shuddering breath of relief.

Cas will have saved Dean, there’s no way Cas will ever let Dean go to Michael.

“You know, it’s hurtful how much faith you have in Castiel when you’re so hostile towards me.” Sam can feel the incredulity in his stare and Lucifer smiles openly at him. “We’re really not that different. We’re both fallen angels and we both want your happiness.”

“Cas is nothing like you. _You_ want to wear my skin like some freak Halloween costume and destroy the world. _You_ think that my happiness revolves around becoming your meat suit and killing everything I’ve fought my whole life to protect,” Sam snaps, anger burning in his chest at the presumptuousness of Lucifer’s statement. “You _kill Dean_.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at that. “Says who?”

Sam pauses. He didn’t mean to let slip anything about the future Dean had seen courtesy of Zachariah, if for no other reason than he doesn’t want to give Lucifer any ideas. Dean had been so reluctant to tell Sam about what had happened to make him call Sam and suggest they team up again. It had taken a seriously rough hunt and a fifth of whiskey before Dean had finally been honest with him. Sam can’t even begin to imagine how much of a mind fuck it must have been nor how he would have reacted had their situations been reversed.

“It seems Zachariah has made a hobby of messing with the two of you. Perhaps I should have been more committed to ending his pitiful existence,” Lucifer muses with a little frown.

“Get out of my head!” Sam yells at him and tires to pretend that he’s not just used the exact tone of voice on the devil that he used on Dean when they were kids and Dean was on his side of the Impala’s backseat. From the smirk Lucifer is directing at him, Sam’s not fooling anybody.

“Look –“ Lucifer says, standing up and starting to wander the room, “– I’m really not interested in killing Dean.”

“And I’m not going to give you the chance to,” Sam says fiercely, bristling when Lucifer gives him that tolerant smile. “The future’s already changed; we didn’t know that the colt won’t work against you when Zachariah threw Dean into the future and now-”

“You do because you’ve already shot me with it,” Lucifer interrupts and gives a little sigh and fixes Sam with a bright, imploring gaze. “C’mon, Sam, that’s all in the past. I’ve let bygones be bygones. Even when Dean shot me – which hurt a lot, I’ll have you know – I didn’t kill him. I very easily _could_ have, but didn’t because he’s important to you and you’re important to me.”

“You only care about my body,” Sam accuses and could he _stop sounding like a jaded mistress already_!

Lucifer doesn’t laugh at him, though. Instead, the stunning blue eyes trawl slowly over Sam and the smile that tilts his lips this time is darkly appreciative.

“I will admit that you are one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever beheld, and I am very keen to feel the inside of you,” Lucifer drawls and every hair on Sam’s body stands on end. “I have no doubt that it will be incredibly pleasurable.”

Sam swallows thickly and backs up a step. “No.”

“Oh don’t be so pessimistic about my abilities,” Lucifer says with a gleam to his eyes that makes Sam nervous and wonder if they’re both still talking about the same thing. “I can bring you release, you know. Bliss. Every second drowning in ecstasy so intense you’ll be writhing and incoherent, wanting to beg me for less and more but unable to do either.”

Okay, now Sam’s positive they’re not talking about the same thing and he’s feeling incredibly awkward. Lucifer’s voice is a low, rumbling tone that’s doing strange things to Sam’s heart rate.

 _Nerves_ , Sam furiously tells himself. _Adrenaline from a threat_.

“You were made for me, Sam, fashioned to be perfect for me in every way. Body, mind, and soul all for me to do with as I will.”

“You’re wrong,” Sam growls and clenches his hands into fists to hide the tremble. “It’s _my_ will here that’s important and I say _no_. I will always say no.”

Lucifer smirks and slowly walks towards Sam, saying, “You must be at least a little bit curious as to what it would feel like. What I can give you.”

“I’ve heard what it feels like from Jimmy to have Cas hitching a ride, and Dean saw the state Raphael’s vessel was left in after the bastard was done with his meat suit. I will never agree to watch helplessly as I’m forced to kill my brother before having my mind burned away. To be eventually left behind as a drooling vegetable, abandoned to slowly die alone on a wasted planet when you get bored of being here.”

And the amazing thing is that Sam himself didn’t know that _that_ was his greatest fear until the words flew from his mouth, sounding more hurt and angry and painfully honest than he ever wanted to be with Lucifer. But now that the truth is laid out so vividly, it’s all Sam can think of, all he can _see_. It makes him feel shaky and alone and so fucking raw it physically _hurts_. His breath is heaving out of him and all Sam wants right now is his brother by his side or a gun in his hand, because at the end of the day they equate to the same thing.

Lucifer has gone unnaturally still – _angel_ still – and is watching him with what creepily enough looks like genuine concern, but Sam doesn’t care. The room is too small and the threat standing in it too large. He has to get out.

“Sam-” Lucifer starts, but Sam curtly cuts him off.

“I’m leaving.”

And just like that, the door and window aren’t there anymore. If Sam thought the room was too small before, now it’s positively claustrophobic. The light that had been coming in through the window is still illuminating the space, like it’s been frozen in its reflection off the wall. Trapped in this room like Sam is trapped and the knowledge is a living thing crawling over his skin.

Lucifer’s leaning against the battered chest of drawers with his arms crossed over his chest and a no-nonsense expression on his face. “Sam, I think we need to discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss!” Sam yells at him, frustrated and nervously reckless. “There is nothing you can ever do or say that will convince me to say yes!”

“I will never leave you behind.”

That brings Sam up short, cutting through his anger and fear and it shouldn’t. Those words shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t make a scrap of difference to how he’s feeling. They _don’t_ damn it!

“I’ll never lie to you, I’ll never hurt you, and I will _never_ leave you,” Lucifer tells him solemnly. “For the rest of eternity, you will be protected and the two of us together will hold Dean safe. I can keep him alive with us until the end of time; carve Michael from his flesh and bring him back whole.”

 _Fuck_ , Sam thinks and honestly isn’t sure if he says it out loud. Lucifer moves away from the drawers.

“I want to give you _everything_ , Sam, including Dean and myself. And I want all of you, mind included. Raphael is a selfish, wasteful fool and has never known the wonder and responsibility of having someone meant just for him. He abuses his vessels because he is ignorant. You’re not a vessel, Sam.” And Lucifer is right there, so close that Sam can see his unsteady breaths fanning the hair at Lucifer’s temples. “You’re so much more.”

There’s something unspeakably old looking out at him through those blue eyes and Sam doesn’t know how he hasn’t seen it before. It makes him feels small and painfully young. But this ancient creature – the prophesised destroyer of mankind – is offering Sam everything he’s always desperately craved; him and Dean together, safe from all the monsters and hurt in the world.

Sam’s tempted. He can’t deny that he’s so fucking _tempted_ and he knows that Lucifer sees it. For the first time, Sam is honestly thinking about the good that could come from giving in. Dean always sacrifices himself for others, has proven it time and time again when he throws himself into blood and battle for people they never see again. Dean sold his soul and was willing to endure eternal torment for the chance to save his little brother, to spend one more year together. Sam knows that he will be doing essentially the same thing if he says yes, but isn’t it worth it if he can spend _eternity_ with Dean? If it means he can keep Dean safe?

But Dean will never understand, never forgive him if he says yes like this.

“I can’t,” Sam says and he wishes that his voice was steadier, stronger instead of so damn longing.

Lucifer smiles at him like he’s something beautiful, something worth waiting for. “You will,” he says and his voice holds the assuredness that Sam so desperately wants to feel right now. “Not today, but soon. And then I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“To leave,” Sam blurts in a rush and takes a shaky step away from his tempter. “I want to leave. Now.”

“Alright,” and the door’s back, Sam can see it over Lucifer’s shoulder like it was never gone, “but I’m not comfortable having you running around out there beyond my sight again. I’m going to keep an eye on you this time.”

“You can’t,” Sam tells him and clings to the idea of escape desperately. If he can just get out, get away from all these honeyed words and knowing eyes then things will make sense again and the temptation will go away. “We’re hidden from all angels and demons.”

“Hmm, yeah –” Lucifer agrees as he takes a few steps back and the playful tone has returned to his voice, the amused twist quirking his lips “– but I’ve got a few sneaky tricks of my own.”

The moment between Lucifer disappearing from Sam’s sight and arms like iron wrapping around him is indistinguishable. And it’s cold! It’s so cold that Sam can feel it straight through his jacket as he struggles to free his arms from where they’re pinned uselessly at his sides. “Cold!”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to that. Just think; you’ll never need air-conditioning in the summer again.”

Oh, the devil’s a fucking comedian. “Get off me!”

“Calm down, Sam, everything’s going to be just fine,” Lucifer croons in his ear as he rubs a hand down Sam’s chest before slipping under the hem of his shirt and trailing fingers across the taught muscle of Sam’s stomach. “This won’t hurt at all.” The hand slides up to press against Sam’s breastbone and Sam’s breathing has turned into a ragged mess. “In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion you’ll enjoy it.”

The cold spears into Sam’s chest, punching the air from his lungs and he tries to shove away from it instinctually, pressing harder against the immovable body at his back. It’s like living electricity, powerful and overwhelming and _fantastic_ where it curls through his flesh and melts into his bones. Sam’s head drops back as a strangled sound of raw pleasure drags from his throat and he can feel lips smiling against his neck, hears a chuckle huffed into his hair. Then it’s over and Sam’s gulping in air feeling light headed, twitchy, and _mortified_!

“What the hell was that?” he demands and hates how breathless he sounds.

“Just adding my own special flair to Castiel’s pretty artwork in here,” Lucifer tells him, fingers stroking between Sam’s pectorals in a manner that’s likely supposed to be soothing but feels more like a violation. “Now I’ll be able to keep an eye on you and none of the other angels will ever know. I just marked you with my own symbol, Sam. Right here.” A finger circles around the bottom of Sam’s sternum and Lucifer practically purrs, “Looks good on you.”

“Damn it,” Sam growls and starts struggling again. “Fuck you, as soon as I get out of here I’m getting Cas to remove it. I don’t care if he has to burn it off.” Sam tries to wrench out of Lucifer’s grasp to no avail. Why the hell is Lucifer still holding him?

The back of his neck is prickling into goose bumps where cool breath ghosts over it and Sam knows it’s being done deliberately because angels _don’t need to breathe_. “Castiel isn’t strong enough to remove my sign even if he could detect it.”

“Then I’ll have it sawn off,” Sam snaps and gasps when Lucifer’s grip tightens, cold fingers digging into his flesh warningly, possessively.

“Now I can’t have that,” Lucifer says and there a chiding edge to his voice. “I won’t allow you to mutilate yourself, Sam.”

“And I won’t have you tracking me,” Sam bites back. Every instinct he has in him as a Hunter – as a _human_ – rages against the idea of a predator as dangerous as this one knowing where he is at all times.

“It’s alright; you won’t even know it’s there.”

The angry retort Sam has about how there’s no way he can’t _not_ know the mark’s there melts away as his body grows heavy and his mind dulls. He wants to keep fighting but can’t seem to muster the energy; his limbs are rubber filled with wet concrete making it difficult for him to stay upright. In fact, Sam’s pretty sure he’s not even standing anymore.

“I have to protect you, Sam, especially from your own self destructive tendencies. You’re too precious to go chopping bit off on an angry whim. I’ll never lie to you, but I don’t have to let you remember either.”

 _That’s lying through omission_ , Sam wants to yell but can’t get his tongue to cooperate and if Lucifer’s listening in on his thoughts he doesn’t acknowledge the accusation.

There’s a hand stroking Sam’s face and through his hair, and when Sam tries to roll his head away it lands against a cold chest. “But I want you to remember how you felt earlier when we had our chat. I’ll leave you with that feeling so you know you’ll never be alone, never abandoned.  I’m going to keep you, Sam. I’m going to keep you until the end of existence.”

 

~*~*~

 

“You are being foolish,” Cas says for what feels like the hundredth time and Dean doesn’t bother throwing a glare at him. It takes too much effort. “You must sleep, Dean.”

“Not until we get Sam back,” Dean mutters darkly and continues to watch Bobby as the old man leans over his desk holding the end of a fine chain attached to a crystal that swings in wide circles over a map of America. “You got anything, Bobby?”

“No, and I ain’t gonna if you two yammer heads don’t quit blabbing at me,” Bobby huffs with absent impatience. They’ve been at it for hours and if Bobby being woken in the middle of the night wasn’t enough, then the frustration of all the detection spells they’d tried to find Sam with failing was plenty to set them all on edge.

“Dean-” Cas starts again and Dean really has had a gut full of his nagging.

“I’m not taking a nap when Lucifer’s got a hold of my brother,” he snaps. Cas’ eyes narrow stubbornly and his hand curls like he wants to reach out and _make_ Dean sleep. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Even if his whereabouts is detected, you will be unable to help Sam in your current condition.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dean insists. And he is fine, he even managed to walk all the way to the toilet and back an hour ago. So what if it was on legs that wobbled worse than a new born colt and he’d smashed his elbow on the bathroom sink when he momentarily lost his balance. No one had seen it so therefore it didn’t happen.

Cas has that look on his face, the look that says he’s reached the end of his patience with the infuriating and stupid human. The look that’s usually followed by conversations about respecting Cas’ authority and power and how Dean really is human no matter how much Dean tends to overlook that annoying little fact. The look that means Dean is going to feel about two inches tall in two point one seconds and counting. So, naturally, Dean straightens his shoulders and glares right back at Cas because Dean may know what’s coming but it doesn’t mean he’s going to take it lying down. He’ll take it sitting down, on Bobby’s ugly, lumpy sofa. But he’ll take it sitting down like a _man_.

Bobby, thankfully, chooses that moment to growl in annoyance and toss the crystal onto the table.

“This ain’t working.” Bobby tips his hat back a bit and scratches at the thinning hair beneath.  “I can’t find him. He’s either shielded or-”

“Not in the country anymore,” Dean finishes and slumps back in his seat, scrubbing his hands over his face. “How long will it take to do a global search?”

Bobby sighs and says, “An hour to set up, gotta go through each country individually and cleanse between searches, which takes time. More countries out there than ya’d think.”

“Fuck,” Dean says bitterly and Bobby hums his agreement while pouring more whiskey into his glass. Neither of them has hit the desperate stage of drinking straight from the bottle yet at least. A wave of exhaustion washes over Dean and he lets his head drop back with a sigh. He’s so damn tired.

“Of all the things you two have been though, I can’t believe it’s a damn car crash that sends everything into a spiralling cluster fuck. You boys got the worst damned luck I ever saw,” Bobby mutters as he flops down into his desk chair and scowls at the jumble of books and maps spread around the room.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just takes a long swallow from his glass of whiskey and focuses on the burn as it travels down to his stomach. After a long minute or two of silence, he sighs and sits upright again.

“Ok, you got all the maps we need to do this thing?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says and rubs at his eyes with the heel of a hand, “I got ‘em.”

“Good. You do the first few, let me see how it’s done, and we can take turns after that. Yeah?”

Bobby huffs a tired sigh and pushes up from his chair. “You’d best have those damn fool ears of yours all the way open for this. We ain’t got time for you to be making rookie mistakes.”

“Y’think I don’t know that,” Dean snaps, harsher than he’d meant and both men lock eyes for a tense moment before breaking the gaze with matching awkward scowls. They don’t mean to be snippy with each other, they’re both just tired and worried and the stress of the night has worn their fuses short.

Bobby yanks open one of the draws of his desk and starts riffling through it, saying, “I ain’t doing this without coffee.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Dean says and pushes to his feet to stagger through to the kitchen. He’s not as wobbly this time and takes it as a good sign even if Cas is still staring at him balefully from his position near the lounge room window.

The kettle’s about half boiled and Dean’s leaning on the kitchen counter trying to figure out what caused the fluro-pink stain in the blobby shape of a boot, when one of Bobby’s phones starts to ring. It’s the regular line so Dean calls out, “Want I should get that?” and picks it up on Bobby’s affirming grunt.

“Singer Salvage Yard,” says Dean.

“ _Dean!_ ” comes Sam’s voice down the line and Dean almost cracks the plastic casing of the cordless as his grip tightens.

 “Sam! Where the fuck are you?” he demands down the line and Cas is at his side instantly as Bobby skids to a halt in the doorway between kitchen and lounge.

“ _I- I’m really not sure. I woke up on this park bench a few minutes ago and my phone’s gone, think I left it in the Impala. I’m on a pay phone outside the post office but your cell’s just going straight to message bank-_ ” His phone’s obviously more messed up than just a cracked case, Dean realises bitterly, “- _so figured I’d better give Bobby’s a try._ ”

The kettle starts to whistle and Dean flails out with one hand, burning his fingers as he knocks it off the stove but barely registers it beyond a quick wince. “Can you figure out where you are? Town, City?”

“ _I’m in Franklin but.._.”

“There’s like a hundred Franklins,” Dean groans.

“ _Yeah. No one’s out on the street and nothing nearby’s open except for the police station down the road, but I don’t think I should go in there. There’s enough blood on my shirt to raise questions_.”

“Fuck no, don’t go near the cops. What about street signs?”

“ _Yeah, I’m on the corner of Franklin Road and Carol Ave_ -”

“Michigan,” Cas says and that’s all the warning Dean gets before a hand lands on Dean’s arm and he’s standing in front of his startled brother, still holding Bobby’s cordless, which has started aggressively spewing static.

“Goddamnit, Cas!” Dean curses and hits the button to shut off Bobby’s phone. “Give a guy some warning next time.”

Dean hears the click of Sam hanging the pay phone’s receiver back in its cradle and then there’s hands grabbing hold and Dean’s yanked against his brother’s solid frame as Sam’s arms wrap tightly around his neck.

“Fuck, man, I thought Michael had… Fuck.”

Sam sounds shaky in a way that Dean fully understands and he grips Sam close, breathing in the familiar scents (generic laundry detergent, gun oil, and that girly-ass shampoo Sam insists is for men) before pushing him out to arms length and demanding, “What the hell happened to you?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s eyes are too wide and he drags a hand through his ridiculous hair. “One moment there’s light and angels and you’re screaming out curses, then I’m being pulled away from you and I wake up on a bench down the road.”

“What about Lucifer?” Cas asks, voice low and insistent.

“Seriously, I don’t know. As far as I remember, the last time we spoke was when he zapped me back to health.”

Dean bites down on the need to start yelling – he doesn’t know why he wants to yell other than he’s stressed and it seems like the thing to do – and instead bites out, “He snatched you back on the road and we couldn’t find you through the locating spells. He would have had you for a few hours, dude. What was he doing, watching you sleep?”

“Fuck that’s creepy,” Sam says and shudders a little. Dean can’t blame him, the idea of the devil watching his little brother snoozing makes his hair stand on end. “But honestly, it happened like I told it.”

“Cas, can you see anything, y’know, angel influency?” Dean asks, but Cas is already squinting at Sam and frowning in that way that means he’s looking past the clothes and flesh.

“Nothing appears to be out of place. However, my abilities are significantly diminished and Lucifer is an Archangel. I cannot be sure.”

“Perfect,” Dean sighs as he scrubs a hand over his eyes and suppresses a yawn. “That’s just perfect.”

“What do we do now?” Sam asks in a quiet voice that makes him sound way too young and kicks all Dean’s protective big brother instincts into high gear.

“We’re going back to Bobby’s, angel proofing the house, and running you through the gauntlet of everything Bobby can think of or make up just to be sure,” Dean declares in a voice so much more confident than the feels, but Sam looks somewhat comforted so it’s worth it. Even if Cas is giving him that damn look that says he’s not fooled for a moment.

Cas seems to take Dean’s words as a plan of action though, because he reaches out and next thing Dean knows they’re all back at Bobby’s. Bobby is on his feet and firing questions like a machine gun instantly and Dean has to reach out and steady himself as a wave of fatigue hits him along with the old man’s demands. God, with all the angel zapping he’s been through tonight, Dean’s not gonna poop for a month.

“Dean,” says Cas, impatient and gravel rough. It reminds Dean of what Cas sounded like earlier after they’d ki- completed the _energy transfer_. The energy transfer he’s resolutely not thinking about or remembering. Sam doesn’t get to be the only Winchester with convenient amnesia tonight.

Dean opens his eyes, realises the thing he grabbed to steady himself is Cas’ arm, and snatches his hand back. “What?” he demands and it comes out harsher than he means. Fuck he’s tired.

“Sam is safe, you must sleep.”

“This again,” Dean huffs and forcibly straightens his posture to try and appear more awake. “I’m fine and there’s shit to do yet. Gotta test Sam and- Oh God!”

“What?” Sam sounds panicked and even Bobby is looking a little more wide eyed for Dean’s sudden exclamation.

“My baby,” Dean groans and wants to yell again. “My baby’s trashed and all alone. Fuck, who knows what’s happened to her.”

“Dean,” Sam says in an admonishing tone – like the thought of Dean’s sweetheart broken on the side of the road wasn’t worth his outburst – and Bobby slumps into his desk chair with a, “Damned idjet,” and reaches for the whiskey.

“Bobby, I gotta borrow the tow truck,” Dean announces as he heads for the basket of keys near the front door. “You and Sam angel proof the place and start running through some tests. She’s only a couple states away so I’ll-”

“No.”

That was Cas. Cas sounding angry and determined and like he’s about to get his smite on. Dean turns to face him and the retort dies on his lips when he sees the angel’s dark expression.

“Look, Cas, it won’t take me long-”

“Enough,” says Cas and jabs him in the forehead with two fingers, likely a little rougher than strictly necessary but Dean doesn’t have time to register that before it’s lights out.

 

~*~*~

 

It’s mid-afternoon and all is quiet at Singer Salvage Yard. Earlier, Bobby ran Sam through a couple dozen tests, found nothing, then left an hour ago with the tow truck to fetch the Impala, bitching about how impossible damn Winchesters are. Cas disappeared to locations unknown hours before that, shortly after declaring the house properly angel proofed.

Sam sits in the creaky armchair, nursing a much needed beer and listening to his brother sleeping on the couch. Dean is sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted; limbs too loose, dark smudges to the skin under his eyes, and snoring softly like he only does when completely wiped. The rhythmic breathing is comforting for Sam, stops the house from being too quiet without being noisy, providing the ideal white noise to sit and think with.

The events of the night should have left him feeling as tired as Dean is, but Sam feels fine. He can only think that he really must have been sleeping for all those hours he was missing; otherwise he’d be crashed out alongside Dean. Instead, he feels rejuvenated, calm. There’s a strange peace in his chest that he hasn’t felt since, well, _ever_. Like everything’s alright and regardless of the fact that they’re running head first into the apocalypse it will all work out for the best. After the insanity of the night, this feeling should leave him worried and questioning what happened in those blank hours. Instead, he feels… comforted.

Dean’s breathing deepens for a moment and Sam glances over to check on him, feels concern and protectiveness bleed into the edges of his calm at his brother’s defenceless, oblivious state. So brilliantly deceptive when awake, Sam sometimes forgets that Dean really is human. Dean plays the invincible hunter so well that even when he’s broken and bleeding, as long as his mouth still works it’s like he’s unbeatable. It’s only times like this – when Dean’s quiet and still and his mouth isn’t spewing bravado like a bullet-proof hero from a b-grade action movie – that Sam remembers just how fragile Dean is. Flesh, blood, and brittle bone so very easily broken.

But that’s okay; Sam will find a way to keep his brother safe. Safe from Michael and the asshole angel brigade, safe from the demons and the creatures lurking in the dark. Sam doesn’t know how, but he can feel it deep inside, like a certainty carved into his very bones. Sam will find a way to keep Dean safe from all the monsters in the world, and they’ll be together. Forever.

 

~The End~

 


End file.
